


Belt It Out

by selecasharp



Series: Belted [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Belts, Body Worship, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild Kink, My First Work in This Fandom, Nipples, POV Derek, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Talking, Top Derek, Top Derek Hale, Undressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:17:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selecasharp/pseuds/selecasharp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is having trouble holding still, so Derek tries something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belt It Out

Derek takes his time undressing him. Stiles keeps trying to hurry him, pushing at his hands and saying things like “ _Any day now, Derek_ ” and “ _Were you planning to do this tonight or next week sometime?_ ” and “ _At this rate I’ll probably be nineteen by the time you’ve finished taking my shirt off_ ” but Derek isn’t going to be rushed. He’s going to do this properly. Slowly. 

His flannel’s off, but Stiles is still mostly dressed, in a t-shirt and worn jeans. Derek peels the cotton up over Stiles’s abdomen and pauses to lay a line of kisses around his navel. Stiles squirms underneath him, panting, his hands tangling in Derek’s hair. “Come on, please?” he begs, voice breaking on the last word.

“Hold still,” Derek murmurs into his skin. He inhales, closing his eyes. Stiles’s scent is sharp, concentrated, more potent than usual. It shivers through him, filling him, overwhelming him. Slowly, he breathes out, stroking his hands up Stiles’s sides. 

Stiles wiggles again, half-gasping, half-laughing. “Don’t tell me to hold still and then tickle me,” he complains. He tugs on Derek’s hair, then grabs for his fingers. Derek knocks his hands away easily and pushes his shirt up a little further, until he can get his mouth on one of Stiles’s nipples. It pebbles up under his tongue, and he mouths over and around it, tasting, before licking his way over to the other. “Oh man,” Stiles babbles, grabbing again at Derek’s hair. “You’re really going for torture this time, aren’t you?”

Derek doesn’t bother responding. He just follows the line of Stiles’s collarbone with the tip of his tongue, tracing the slope and furrow, before nudging his shirt up just enough to dip his tongue in the hollow of Stiles’s throat. With his fingers, he finds Stiles’s nipples and drags his short nails over the still-damp nubs. 

Stiles arches, whining without words, his fingers digging into Derek’s scalp. “Oh my god,” he manages. He yanks on Derek’s hair again and then lets go, his hands fumbling for his own shirt. Trying to grab it, Derek thinks. “Seriously, I’m gonna frickin’ die here, you’re literally gonna kill me — okay, not literally, figuratively, whatever, I’m dying either way—”

Derek snags Stiles’s wrists without looking and pins them both against the sheets. He nips at Stiles’s neck, not enough to hurt, and leans his weight into him, pressing him down into the mattress. “Shut up,” he growls, without any real heat. 

“Shutting up,” Stiles says immediately. Of course.

Derek moves up, covers that mouth with his own. He loves this, when Stiles goes quiet into a kiss, his taste and scent flooding Derek’s senses, the two of them trading breaths. But it isn’t long before Stiles is trying to talk again, bucking underneath him, wrists twisting in Derek’s grip, erection hot and hard against him despite the layers of clothing still between them. “Derek,” he gasps against his lips. “ _Please_.”

Derek kisses him again, nibbling at his lower lip. Then he moves his hands, hooking his thumbs under the hem of Stiles’s rucked-up shirt and pulling it off before Stiles can do more than blink. “Happy?” he asks, tossing it to the floor.

“No, not yet,” Stiles pants, fumbling for the hem of Derek’s own shirt. He catches it, tugging insistently. “C’mon, this is just getting cruel.”

“No,” Derek says, catching his hands again. “You know I’m not…”

Stiles goes still. Then he nods. “I know.” He stretches his neck up, brushes his lips over Derek’s. “But I still wanna strip you. Can I? Please?”

Derek growls again. “You gonna stop grabbing at me if I let you?”

“Promise,” Stiles declares, grinning. 

That’s a damned lie, Derek doesn’t say as he bows his head and lets Stiles pull his shirt off. The moment it’s clear, Derek catches Stiles’s wrists again and kisses them both, right over his beating pulse. Stiles shudders, dragging in a breath. “Keep still,” Derek murmurs.

He places Stiles’s hands back on the sheets and then leans over him again, pressing his mouth to Stiles’s neck and breathing in. Stiles tilts his head back, offering him unrestricted access to his throat. Derek kisses him there, listening to the roar of blood rushing through him. He wants to claim him, suck marks onto his skin right here, but he moves his mouth down, trailing over Stiles’s neck and following the beat of his heart down to his chest. He can do it here, he thinks, circling Stiles’s left nipple with his tongue.

Stiles grabs his hair.

“Stiles,” he growls, lifting his head. 

“Sorry,” Stiles pants, yanking his hands back. “Just, your mouth—”

Derek nips at him, sucking his nipple into his mouth and scraping his teeth over it until it’s stiff and peaked. His hands he spreads over Stiles’s abdomen, feeling the muscles flutter under his touch. He frames Stiles’s hips with his palms, tracing the jut of his bones, relishing every gasp and twitch and bitten-off moan he draws out. Stiles is grabbing the sheets now, Derek notices. But when he slips his fingers under the elastic of Stiles’s boxers, following the curve of his hip, Stiles grabs him again. His wrists this time, but still. “I can’t,” Stiles pants, barely able to get words out. “It literally hurts, how hard I am, and you haven’t even unzipped my damn jeans—”

Derek twists his wrists free and grabs for Stiles’s belt. “You promised,” he rasps, undoing the buckle and sliding the belt free in one motion. Stiles blinks at him, chest heaving, and Derek gives him something like a smile. 

“Hands,” he says.

“Are you gonna tie ‘em up with that?” Stiles asks, eyeing the belt. His heart is racing, Derek notes, faster than before. He pauses, belt dangling, watching Stiles’s eyes flutter shut and then open. Stiles is breathing harder too, short little gasps, and his scent—

“I don’t,” Derek starts, but to his surprise, Stiles thrusts his hands toward him without another word. 

Ah. Derek bends his head, kisses those wrists again, and then loops the belt around them. He binds them together, loose enough not to hurt, tight enough to keep them immobile, and then tucks the ends against Stiles’s palms. “Hold that,” he says, and Stiles closes his fists around the leather, dragging in a shuddering breath. Derek draws his joined hands up and back, pressing them down into the mattress above Stiles’s head. 

“Good boy,” he whispers. 

It’s time, he decides. His own jeans are starting to get uncomfortable, and Stiles is so damned warm, so utterly _his_. He wants to feel him. All of him. He reaches out, brushes one finger over the leather. “You’re all right?”

“All right?” Stiles drags in a breath. “This very well might be the single hottest thing you’ve ever done.”

“Really.” Derek kisses his way down the center of Stiles’s chest. 

“Okay, so like 90% of what you do is the hottest thing ever,” Stiles gasps, his hips jerking as Derek slips the button on his jeans. “But yeah, this? This is fucking hot. And you’re not even—” He breaks off with a moan as Derek licks the stripe of skin just above the waistband of his jeans.

“Not even?” He nips the skin over Stiles’s hip and then, carefully, pulls the zipper.

“Not even naked, oh my _god_.” Stiles moans again, wriggling, as Derek draws his jeans down over his thighs. Stiles’s cock is straining against his boxers, the fabric slightly damp around the tip. Derek kisses that too, breathing in the scent of cotton and arousal and Stiles. Stiles whimpers, his whole body shaking now, and Derek takes pity on him and peels his boxers and jeans the rest of the way down and off.

Stiles is beautiful like this, naked and hard, his eyes pressed shut and his body trembling. Derek runs his hands down over his bare thighs, watching Stiles twist his own hands against the belt. His knuckles are white, his fingernails making indentations in the leather, and Derek really needs to get his own jeans off. Now.

He does it one-handed, using the other to trace a slow line down the crease between Stiles’s hip and thigh. Stiles whines and says something about Derek testing him and how he’s not sure why he’s even putting up with this except that Derek’s really super hot, but Derek tunes out the exact words. More than Stiles’s racing heartbeat, he can hear the need scratching behind every word, can hear the desire beating behind every panting breath. 

Derek kicks his jeans away and kneels on the floor between Stiles’s thighs. He’s panting himself now, heat spiking through his blood as he nudges Stiles’s thighs apart. Stiles is too far back, his ass inches away from the edge of the bed, so Derek grasps his hips and drags him forward. Stiles yelps something, voice thick with lust, and the smell of him, the heat of him, all of it is almost too much. Derek sets his teeth against the soft inner skin of Stiles’s thigh, breathing hard, but he doesn’t bite. Not hard, at least.

“Derek,” Stiles pleads, spreading his thighs open further. “Please, Derek, can you just go a little faster, I’m begging here, I need you so freaking badly—”

“Not yet,” Derek murmurs, and licks him. He licks Stiles all the way down his thigh, licks his cock from root to tip, and then licks down the seam of his legs until his tongue finds the pucker between them. Stiles groans, shaking hard, and Derek circles his tongue around the rim, teasing at it with brief flicks. His thumbs press into Stiles’s hips, holding him down the way he knows Stiles likes. He can hear Stiles striking the bed with his bound hands, babbling a stream of gibberish. Derek growls against Stiles’s skin, tension thumping through him. He won’t be be able to keep this up much longer.

“Faster,” Stiles moans.

“Not yet.” Derek licks him again, swirling his tongue over the skin and rubbing his cheeks against Stiles’s inner thighs before he pulls away. He’s shaking as he stands again, his own cock aching with the need to touch, to claim. The lube’s on the bed nearby, and he slicks himself up with it, then presses two slippery fingers against Stiles. “Ready?” he makes himself ask. It’s hard to speak, to think in words, but he does it.

“Hell yes I’m ready,” Stiles pants. “I’ve been ready for-freaking-ever, please just, oh _god_ yes, finally!”

Derek’s fingers glide in easily, and Stiles swears and beats his fists against the mattress, begging without words now. Derek pushes in further, sliding them in and out a few times, watching. Making sure. 

“I’m ready!” Stiles gasps out. “Now, Derek, god, I’m so fucking ready, please, ready ready ready—”

Derek’s beyond words now. He growls in response and pulls his fingers free, then nestles himself between Stiles’s legs, pressing forward until the head of his cock is bumping up against the cleft of Stiles’s ass. Stiles lifts his legs without prompting, kicking them up and open, and Derek grabs his own cock and guides it forward. His whole body jolts at the touch of his hand and then at the grip of Stiles’s tight heat surrounding him, but he has just enough control left not to shove in too fast or too hard. He pushes inside in measured beats, his hands grasping Stiles’s hips, until they’re flush together. Connected, as wholly as possible. 

“Now?” Stiles begs, breathless.

“Now,” Derek manages.

He snaps his hips forward. Stiles gasps, his head falling back, his hands twisting around the ends of the belt. His lips move, but he doesn’t make a sound. So Derek does it for him, growling out Stiles’s name, or as close as he can get to it, as he pounds into him, over and over, his whole body on fire. He loves this part too, when they’re both so lost they can barely think, everything else narrowing to this. When Stiles goes quiet, finally, pushing up into it, meeting every thrust. When there’s nothing but the two of them. 

_Stiles_ , he says with his body, his lips, his mind. It’s all that matters. 

Stiles arches under him, reaching up blindly, hands still wrapped tight together. Derek can see the marks on him from earlier, reddish against the pale, faint on his neck but darker around his nipples. He crawls one hand up Stiles’s body, brushing his fingers over them, and Stiles whines and reaches for him. The belt’s still looped around his wrists, but he’s lost one end. It trails over his chest and the back of Derek’s hand, cool leather contrasting with the heat rising from them. He almost grabs for it, but then Stiles catches it again and reaches out, fingers stretching.

“Derek,” Stiles whispers, pleading, and touches his mouth.

He knows what Stiles wants. 

Derek shifts his hands, planting them on the mattress on either side of Stiles, and leans forward. The backs of his forearms brush Stiles’s splayed thighs, and he has to adjust his stance to keep his cock from sliding out, but a moment later his lips find Stiles’s. Stiles makes a broken sound, his hands somehow wrapping around Derek’s neck as he kisses him back, open-mouthed and needy. The scent of leather sharpens as Derek finds his stride again, driving into Stiles over and over, as fast as Stiles had begged for earlier, as fast as they both can stand. The head of Stiles’s cock bumps against Derek with every thrust, smearing him, marking him in return. He can smell it on himself, sharp and strong. He’ll be able to smell it for days.

Just the thought of it is almost enough to make him come right then.

But he won’t come first. He changes the rhythm, slowing it down but pushing in deeper, harder. Stiles pants into his mouth, shivers running through him. _Derek_ , he mouths more than says. His arms tighten around Derek’s neck, and he surges forward, kissing him frantically while grinding down on Derek’s cock.

He’s close. 

Derek deepens the kiss, snarling a little as he lengthens his strokes. Stiles likes that, likes slow and hard at the end, for all that he begs Derek to go fast. He leans in closer too, so that the whole length of Stiles’s cock rubs against his abdomen, sliding easily now. Stiles moans, his body going rigid, his fingers digging into the back of Derek’s neck.

He feels it all over when Stiles comes. He tastes it on Stiles’s lips, smells it on his skin, hears it in Stiles’s gasp, feels it in the rush of heat between them. He growls with it, his whole body lighting up as Stiles clutches at him, panting his name. “Derek,” he says, “ _Derek_ ,” again and again. Like it’s the only thing he can say. Like he’s all Stiles needs.

Derek presses his face against Stiles’s, breathing hard as he picks up the pace again. He feels tense, tight, his whole body quivering on the edge as Stiles starts to go limp underneath him. But Stiles isn’t finished. “Derek,” he murmurs, running the fingers of one hand through Derek’s sweat-soaked hair. “Come on.” He arches again, pushing down onto Derek’s cock. Inviting him.

His rhythm breaks. Derek bows his head and comes, his teeth biting at his own lip, his forehead pressed into the crook of Stiles’s neck. He loses track of time, of everything but his cock pumping into Stiles, Stiles’s fingers scratching at his scalp, sending lesser shocks of pleasure through him. For a dizzying moment, it seems to last forever.

And then it’s over, and he’s lying boneless across Stiles’s chest, his feet sliding on the floor. He closes his eyes and breathes in, smelling both of them at once. Together.

Sometime later, Stiles unwraps his hands and tosses the belt to the floor. “God, that was a great idea,” he sighs. He draws Derek onto the bed with him, curling around him and laying his head on Derek’s chest, heedless of the stickiness still spattering them both. “We so have to do that again. Seriously, the whole thing was great. Even though you frickin’ tortured me for like an _hour_ first. I thought my balls were gonna explode. And I’m never going to be able to put that belt on again without getting embarrassingly hard. You may have ruined me for belts forever.”

Derek sighs and curls his arm around Stiles’s shoulder. “And it starts,” he mutters. But he doesn’t really mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [you know they are mates](http://youknowtheyaremates.tumblr.com/) tumblr, with [merakieros](http://merakieros.tumblr.com) making the gif. See [here](http://youknowtheyaremates.tumblr.com/post/127340653725/derek-takes-his-time-undressing-him-stiles-keeps) for the inspiration. :D NSFW!
> 
> Crossposted to [LJ](http://teashopmuses.livejournal.com/94536.html).


End file.
